Game Theory
by ToryTigress92
Summary: Sequel to 'The Broken Tango'. Irene, Sherlock and John return to their day-to-day lives in an attempt to draw Moriarty out and discover his endgame, but the consulting criminal is far from stupid. The Woman, the Hound and the Fall will rigorously test the three and the bonds that unite them, and in the end will it be enough for Sherlock and Irene to survive Moriarty's plans?


Game Theory

Warnings: None

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

_**A/N: **_**So I'm baaaack! Well, kind of. This is just a start-up chapter to ascertain interest in a sequel to 'The Broken Tango' and reassure you I am going to write this, eventually. The plotline is all done; it will just take time to write. I finish my semester in early June, so will have plenty of writing time then. This will be an AU of Season 2, but will not continue into Season 3 when it finally airs. The story ends for Sherlock, John and Irene here.**

* * *

Three people strode unobtrusively through the milling crowds of people at Southampton Docks, heading towards the ticket offices, heads down and tilted away to avoid the security cameras mounted on the walls and roofs of the buildings surrounding the busy docks, where a P&Q ferry waited to take its passengers away to Calais.

They wove in and out of the crowd with ease, one walking with a slight limp, as his quick brown eyes darted around the street, alert and watching for danger, while the other two only occasionally glanced around them, determined on their course.

The shorter of the two made sure her hood was securely tightened against the cold weather, only a lock of dark brown hair escaping from the restrictive grey material of her hooded jumper, while the other merely raised the collar of his coat against the wind. Unconsciously, their hands met every few minutes whenever the crowd forced them into contact.

John sighed as someone stepped on his toe for the fifth time with their suitcase. Tourists and dock officials milled around him and he found himself disliking the claustrophobic feeling it evoked. He glanced towards his two companions, both silent and casually weaving through the crowd, and tried to speed up despite the injury to his arm and the pain in his leg.

They finally made it to the ticket office and queued as patiently as Sherlock was able, but he was behaving himself. John supposed even Sherlock was not immune to the sobriety of their situation. It was key to Sherlock's plan that they leave Britain undetected. Stories of a tall, skinny rude bloke spouting off peoples' life histories to insult them would probably tip both Mycroft and Moriarty off.

John spotted the three men making their way towards them through the queues as they made the ticket desk and Sherlock set about charming the new girl behind the desk, and surreptitiously nudged Irene in the side, who glanced around subtly, her eyes going to the three men.

Dressed like tourists, but really, did they expect Irene and Sherlock to miss the telltale bulges at the apex of their arms? Clearly Moriarty underestimated them.

Irene nodded at John, and then placed a hand on Sherlock's, drawing his attention. "Three men, in civilian clothes, at one' o'clock, nine' o'clock and twelve' o 'clock. Cargo, now," she hissed with a smile, and she felt Sherlock's answering squeeze of her hand. With a shared glance, they glided away from the ticket desk, leaving the bemused assistant behind, John making his way through the crowd another way, ducking underneath his would-be captor's grip. Irene lost sight of him, but if the rookies muttering into their wrist mikes were any indication, he had gone down and John was free. Now it was her turn.

Using the crush to her advantage, she allowed the crowd to swell between her and her shadow, before dropping and crouching below head height, her slender form allowing her to slide her way through the crowd and towards an exit with ease.

She didn't have any qualms about Sherlock successfully making his way outside.

* * *

As soon as she made the open air, the seagulls screeching loudly in the grey sky above her head, threatening rain, she made her way towards the cargo loading area. If they couldn't get onto the ship legitimately, they'd sneak their way on.

All three of them were fully capable of it, especially with John and Irene's military training and Sherlock was just…well, Sherlock.

Irene didn't feel anything but confidence as she spotted the dark figure of Sherlock nearing the cargo loading bays just as she did, and then she felt a presence behind her and spun to find John there, with a cocky grin despite the rise and fall of his chest.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, frowning, as his piercing gaze roved John's slightly trembling form.

"Yeah," John nodded. "Think I'll need to change the dressings once we're safe though."

They nodded, and slipped into the staff areas, covering their clothes with the cargo bay workers' overalls and fluorescent tabards, finishing the disguise with hard hats, but as they slipped outside and hurried towards the loading bays, they suddenly found themselves surrounded by loading bay workers now holding guns on them.

"Oh bloody hell," John hissed through his teeth, raising his hands in surrender. Irene and Sherlock didn't move, just glared at their captors as they were led away.

Sherlock knew who was behind this, of course. His interfering weasel of an older brother.

His knuckles tingled with the ghost sensations of the punch he had bestowed on Mycroft barely 36 hours earlier, and he grinned. Dropping all pretence, Irene and Sherlock walked closely together, Irene worriedly keeping an eye on John, who looked a little pale, a small patch damp darkness on the sleeve of his overall.

They were led into a small office above the ticket area, and none of the trio were surprised to see Mycroft waiting for them, standing behind the empty desk, umbrella in hand and a thoroughly disapproving brow lifted as he eyed them.

"I knew you were reckless, Sherlock, but this is ridiculous, even for you," he sighed, as Sherlock said nothing. His gaze slid sideways to John, who was resolutely meeting his gaze with betraying anything, but for the shadow of pain in his eyes. He turned to the well-dressed figure of Anthea, stood behind him, Blackberry at the ready, and barked out a quick order. "See to it Doctor Watson receives medical attention immediately. I need to speak to Sherlock and Miss Adler, alone."

"Hey, wait a minute-!" John protested but Sherlock met his gaze with a slight smile. The doctor calmed and nodded, knowing that they would fill him in on everything later. His arm was beginning to ache.

* * *

As soon as the door closed behind them, Mycroft took a seat, gesturing for them to do the same. Sherlock declined as always, glaring at his brother, but Irene took the opposite seat, insolently propping her feet up on the desk and crossing them, leaning back in her chair nonchalantly. Sherlock smirked at Mycroft's obvious disapproval.

"Why did you stop us, Mycroft?" Irene asked, finally breaking the tension between the three of them. "I hardly think it was out of brotherly concern."

"An erroneous conclusion," Mycroft replied tersely, "If perhaps not unjustified."

Sherlock scoffed.

Unruffled, Mycroft continued. "Did you truly think the best way to draw Moriarty out was to go into hiding?" he asked incredulously, as Sherlock's fist tightened behind his back.

"He's too confident. I know James, if he believes he has us on the run, he'll make mistakes, get sloppy and we'll be waiting," Irene replied curtly. Mycroft inclined his head.

"Indeed, an otherwise sound plan but," he paused, meeting Sherlock's eyes. "You know as well as I that Moriarty will have anticipated this course of action. You know he has an endgame."

"I'm changing the rules of the game," Sherlock finally spoke, but Mycroft shook his head.

"I think what your darling brother is trying so hard to point out, and failing horribly, is that it might be better to play by Moriarty's rules and so lull him into a false sense of security," Irene cut in, folding her arms, as she glanced behind her to her lover. "He's got a point."

Sherlock's jaw tightened, and she guessed if he had his violin there, no doubt he would be sawing away at it viciously. She smiled and shook her head.

"We still don't know for sure what Moriarty's endgame is," Mycroft continued. "But we can rest assured it will reveal itself soon. Running, hiding and drawing fire won't exacerbate that, and besides your friend Dr. Watson is still injured. You would be better off remaining in Britain for the time being."

"I don't require your help, Mycroft," Sherlock muttered through gritted teeth and Irene rolled her eyes. And she thought her family dynamics were screwed up. "Where is John?" he suddenly asked, and Mycroft sighed.

"He's downstairs, being treated in an ambulance," he replied, and Sherlock left without another word, but as Irene stood to go, Mycroft stood too, drawing her eye. "Miss Adler, we have had our differences, but we both know what is stake here, and the correct course of action."

Irene paused. "You know he's going to do it anyway," she replied quietly. "He just doesn't want to give you the satisfaction."

Mycroft chuckled wearily. "I know it well," he sighed. "Take care, Miss Adler. Moriarty will not hesitate to use either yourself and John against Sherlock. Even he recognises you are Sherlock's greatest strengths."

Irene started, before coldly eying her lover's brother. "Well this is a U-turn," she snapped. "Whatever happened to being liabilities and weaknesses?"

"I have had 36 hours to re-evaluate, shall we say? And it is possible to be both a strength and a weakness, Miss Adler," the elder Holmes replied. "Stay alert. I suspect Moriarty will make his first play soon."

"No doubt," Irene replied. "He is my brother, after all. I know how he thinks."

"Then I wish you luck, and if you should ever need it, Miss Adler, I offer my assistance unconditionally," Mycroft replied coolly, and Irene inclined her head, revealing nothing.

"We'll see," she replied. "Goodbye, Mr Holmes."

* * *

She quickly left, feeling slightly unnerved by the elder Holmes' words. Who would Moriarty target first? John had told her Moriarty threatened to burn out Sherlock's heart, which could include either her or John.

She suspected it might be John first. He was the most vulnerable at the moment, with his injury and his propensity for noble sacrifice. Now she thought about it, their leaving would never have worked in that case. Moriarty would not have believed them dead and wouldn't have delayed in going after John's loved ones to draw him out, and so draw Sherlock and Irene out.

She hated to admit it but Mycroft was right. Better to engage him on familiar territory, discern his strategy and counter it, while lulling him into a false sense of security, believing Sherlock's arrogance had duped him into thinking he was safe for the time being.

* * *

She found John outside, sitting in an ambulance while a medic redressed his arm, but Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. After making sure John was alright, he was in fact giving a lecture to the medic about how to tie a bandage properly, Sherlock was clearly rubbing off on him; Irene left him with a grin and went to find her recalcitrant lover.

She found him standing by the dockside, hard to miss in his worker's overalls and fluorescent tabard but it was also the way he stood, the piercing intelligence in his eyes, that marked him out from the rest. A predator, brooding over a lost kill.

She met his eyes and took a place by his side, gently caressing his hand with the tips of her fingers. The tension gradually seeped from him, and he sighed, before snaring her hand.

Such subtle affection warmed Irene, and she gazed out at the harbour and the horizon contemplatively, as the rain began to fall.

"He's right, you know," she breathed, silence reigning beside her. "We'll be able to mount an effective counter-attack better in London than halfway across the world. London is our territory, not Moriarty's. We'll have the advantage here."

"For God's sake, don't tell Mycroft that. He'll be insufferable," Sherlock muttered, and Irene shook her head.

"And you're not when you know you're right?" she asked quietly, jokingly as Sherlock glared at her from the corner of his eye. Unafraid, she laughed and reached up to kiss him teasingly, not letting him catch her as she darted away. "Back to London then?" she called, and he sighed, his levity fading as he caught her around the waist and shrugged.

"To London," he replied quietly, nodding just once and their eyes met and an unspoken agreement passed between them. Irene's smile faded and her jaw tightened, before she reached up and kissed Sherlock in the drizzle, desperate and rushed, watched by the solitary figure in a grey three-piece suit and holding his umbrella, gazing out at them from an upstairs window looking out over the dockyards.

Thunder struck, and the rain poured down.

* * *

_To be continued..._


End file.
